


Surrender

by ymguchi (complex_andhera)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, that's it thats the whole fic, they wake up together and realize they're stupidly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complex_andhera/pseuds/ymguchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a good thing Yamaguchi understands. It’s a good thing that Yamaguchi has always been able to read him, that’s his motivations and true feelings always been as transparent as glass to him (even if others think he’s difficult to read, and write him off as just another stand offish enigma shutting off the world with his headphones), and Tsukishima is secretly thankful that Tadashi never mistakes his hostility or coldness for anything but what it actually is, namely him being unable to ever comfortably express his emotions, like something inside of him as been frozen hard and inaccessible, indefinitely, and Yamaguchi is waiting for him, patiently, digging his way in with and ice chipper and his greatest weapon, his generous smiles.”</p>
<p>Tsukishima thinks too much on a cold October morning. </p>
<p>[more self indulgent tsukiyama college!au because why not]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:Sorry this is super, super self indulgent and sappy and sentimental and honestly my fics just always start out with people cuddling/in bed because i secretly want to be cuddled and, well, that’s not happening anytime in the immediate future, so here you go….also someone mentioned yamaguchi having cow print boxers in this one shimayama fic that i read and even though this is tsukiyama, i still really liked the idea so...enjoy!

Tsukishima weaves his hands through Yamaguchi’s hair carefully, his sharp, eagle eyes looking out for knots and trying, for all the indifferent front that he likes to put up when they are in public or with their friends, not to pull his long fingers through his hair too tightly and disturb the peacefully sleeping, only somewhat drooling boy beneath him. He sighs when he props himself up on his elbows to get a better view of his boyfriend, now nuzzling into the scattered pillow beneath him and mumbling just the same as he used to as a child, a sight that makes Tsukishima smile even though (or perhaps especially because) there’s no one to see it. The cold October morning has left a faint frost on the wide windows overlooking the twin sized dorm bed that they’ve been sharing for the last six months (Tsukishima’s bed, pushed against the opposite wall, is now just a dusty storage space, where they pile their dirty laundry so it stays off the floor and leave the heavy cardboard boxes that remain from the generous care packages that both of their parents send them, inevitably crammed with things for both of the boys living there, because _that’s_ just how well their parents know them. They haven’t slept apart since orientation.)

Yamaguchi never, ever, ever remembers to brush his hair,Tsukishima complains to himself warily. He’s perpetually late in the mornings, hitting the snooze button more times than is possibly healthy and sacrificing a warm breakfast in order to sleep in more (Tsukishima himself perfectly awakens at 6:00 AM every day, his body doesn’t let him sleep in past that, and treats himself a slice of jam and toast and warm milk before leaving for classes), and this always results in him barely having enough time (by the time Tsukishima forcefully drags him out of bed and dumps him in the shower with his toothbrush and toothpaste)  to shuck his pajama bottoms and pull on a sweater and jeans over his cow print boxers before he has to leave for his 8:00 AM Psychology lecture. But the wild curls that usually result from Yamaguchi washing his hair before bed and sleeping on it are especially prominent now, after he’s been sleeping for more than twelve hours straight (watching him pass out after studying for midterms was sort of a cute sight, not that Tsukishima would ever mention it without a dagger pressed to his neck; having to carry him to the bed and tuck him in while he clung to his neck and unknowingly mumbled ‘Tsukki, I like you…’ was possibly cuter, and also something Tsukishima would never admit).

He places a chaste kiss on Yamaguchi’s shoulder, and Tadashi replies in turn by twisting in his sleep and letting out a low groan before turning to his side so that he’s facing Tsukishima and his hair’s tickling him underneath his chin. Few people outside the volleyball club know this, but Yamaguchi’s freckles actually get darker and more numerous under his clothing, and when Tsukishima reaches one hand under Yamaguchi’s shirt to pull him closer and feel his body heat radiating through the covers and making him warmer than any other blanket possibly could, he sees the smattering of marks blossom at his shoulders and grow in number until they get to the dip of his abdomen, and trail off almost uncertainly underneath his soft, gray sweat pants and picking up again (Tsukishima knows this for a fact, is fascinated by the intricate pattern every time he gets between Yamaguchi’s legs) at the plumpness of his thighs and swirling wildly out of control at the lank shape of his pelvis and all the way to his toes.

People say that Yamaguchi’s freckles remind them of the stars; Tsukishima thinks that’s extremely cliche thing to say, and will openly scoff at people who have the audacity to actually voice this opinion out loud, while Yamaguchi at least tries to take the compliment in good humor.

Yamaguchi’s freckles remind him of a crisp, August night, the scent of apples and dying leaves, a few weeks after the first day of middle school, the sound of a rusty swing set flying in the breeze, and the look of three, self-satisfied bullies running with their tails between their legs as he helped up a boy with (still, even at that young age) messy brown hair and scraped knees and held his hand, tightly, so he wouldn’t let go (purely so that he wouldn’t get lost, or fall over, and definitely not because they were warm, because Yamaguchi has always radiated warmth since Tsukishima has known him, because it’s just part of his personality, along with determination, bravery, and loyalty, and other virtues that Tsukishima would write poetry about if he was the least bit talented and a whole lot of a less of an asshole).  

“Yamaguchi,” he whispers in his usual monotone, trying to mask the fondness from creeping into his voice, “I want breakfast.”

He punctuates his demand with another slow kiss, lower this time, to the jutting out bone of Yamaguchi’s clavicle (this boy never seems to put on weight, no matter how many times Tsukishima tries to feed him the floppy fries that he doesn’t want or no matter how many times he steals bits of short cake from Tsukishima. He’s always been too skinny, and sometimes that worries him). He hopes that that would do it, and he’s right because Yamaguchi mumbles confusedly for the last time and blearily, his eyes finally open and he turns to look at Tsukishima. As soon as his brain processes who he’s seeing ( _his beloved Tsukki!_ he likes to remark from time to time, when they are alone, much to Tsukishima’s chagrin and secretly, to his affection), he smiles immediately, like the first instinct he was born with to pour all of his love and attention into the grumpy guy sleeping right next to him, nibbling at his collar bone and impatiently insisting on pancakes at eleven o’clock in the morning. His arms comes to wrap around Tsukishima’s neck, and Tsukishima grumbles and humors him (don’t worry, Yamaguchi knows he’s secretly thrilled) and wraps his limbery arms around his torso just the way he knows Yamaguchi likes it, as if he is a full length body pillow that Tadashi’s got in the mail (although, Tsukishima supposes, that does come in the ‘boyfriend’ job description, and oh god, as Yamaguchi hugs him closer, he can’t stop his heart beat from accelerating, and can’t stop saying it that one tiny phase in his head over and over again, _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend,_ Yamaguchi _is his_ boyfriend).

His ears turn red, and Yamaguchi definitely notices.

Tsukishima scowls as the boy starts laughing at him with repressed, polite chuckles, and me moves to elbow Yamaguchi away, but Yamaguchi is still too strong, despite his lanky build, and grasps onto him firmly, pulling him closer (if possible), until he stops thrashing and finally stills in his arms and surrenders to his clinging embrace.

“You still smell like toothpaste,” Yamaguchi marvels, his voice still betraying his awe underneath tones thick with sleepy and interrupted by heavy yawning. “How come you never get morning breath?” he pontificates as he arises, and Tsukishima can’t help but be too distracted by the delicious strip of tanned skin peeking out to greet him when Yamaguchi raises his arms high above his head to stretch, allowing his oversize t-shirt to ride up, and, wait a second, that’s not Yamaguchi’s t-shirt, that’s definitely his, if the tiny green dinosaur planted in the middle of the sparse, white background is anything to go by, and wow, in that moment Tsukishima has it so bad, he forces himself out of bed because he can’t even look at the boy next to him, lest he do something stupidly, cheekily romantic, like, say, kissing Yamaguchi, long as slow, and whispering a casual _good morning_ against his lips (as if he was actually that suave, and not, more realistically, a huge, nerdy baby who is allergic to sentimentality and overt displays of affection), or telling him he’s beautiful afterwards (and he is beautiful, all mussed up hair and wearing Tsukishima’s t-shirt like he’s entitled to it, just like he’s entitled to Tsukishima’s heart as well, and he deserves to know, but well, Tsukishima has trouble being that generous with his heart these days).

It’s a good thing Yamaguchi understands. It’s a good thing that Yamaguchi has always been able to read him, that’s his motivations and true feelings always been as transparent as glass  to him (even if other’s think he’s difficult to read, and write him off as just another stand offish enigma shutting off the world with his headphones), and Tsukishima is secretly thankful that Tadashi neer mistakes his hostility or coldness for anything but what it actually is, namely him being unable to ever comfortably express his emotions, like something inside of him as been frozen hard and inaccessible, indefinitely, and Yamaguchi is waiting for him, patiently, digging his way in with and ice chipper and his greatest weapon, his generous smiles.

Tsukishima swallows hard and tries to bring his head back down from the clouds when Yamaguchi finally pulls away. He tries to nudge Yamaguchi out of bed with his knees pressing insistently against his midsection, but Yamaguchi is showing no signs of moving, in fact he looks like he’s going to turn on his side and begin sleeping the rest of the day away, so he’s down to his last resort now.

He picks up Yamaguchi by his midsection and carries him to their tiny kitchenette like he’s an errant little kid. Yamaguchi is giggling hard, struggling playfully to be set free, but Tsukishima is having none of that, and even spins Yamaguchi around a few times so his legs go flying and one of his socks is lost as a casualty to the living room carpet, just to hear him laugh carelessly and those little pleas of, _Please, Tsukki!! Let me DOWN!!_ through his amusement.

_We’re acting like children_ , Tsukishima thinks to himself. Yamaguchi’s smile is funny and bright and absolutely intoxicating, even if others may label him a plain face and move on, and finally, Tsukishima sets him down on the countertop, he knobby knees knocking against Tsukishima’s legs as he backs him up to the edge and moves back to really look at him.

They feel like newlyweds, even if they’re only poor students, and before he can say _You look beautiful, Tadashi_ , Yamaguchi is already leaning in and pulling him forward by his collar of his two day old, white button down that he forewent changing out of for the last two nights, and then Yamaguchi is kissing him, slowly like they’re doing this for the first time, and truly kissing Yamaguchi is a different experience every time, the press of his lips either soft like they are right now, or rushed and desperate like they were last night, as if Yamaguchi needs proof that what they’re doing here, together, isn’t just a pleasant, ephemeral dream.

There’s definitely a learning curve that Tsukishima still hasn’t mastered (although he’s getting close, and with a new dorm _with a lock_ and the lack of parents or older siblings who could walk in any moment, he swears to get good, like, really, really good), and for now all he can do is press back, eagerly, bringing his silky, slack covered legs (fuck, he forgot to change out of his entire work uniform, and now he’ll probably have to go to his work study in wrinkled slacks and a crooked tie, yet again, thank goodness Yamaguchi already likes him), and let Yamaguchi tug on his shirt and coax his mouth open wider. He pulls back, flushed and suddenly self-conscious, probably because he just nipped at Tsukishima’s bottom lip hard enough to bleed, almost, not that Tsukishima minded, _at all_ , _in the slightest_.

Instead of looking up at Tsukishima’s face, his palms come to smooth Tsukishima’s shirt, rubbing his chest in smooth, unilateral strokes that seem to calm the both of them down, but them Tsukishima’s reaching up to hold his chin and Yamaguchi’s breathing stops, then stutters for a moment. It seems that, in the cozy hours of the mid-morning, almost afternoon, Tsukishima is actually capable of being tender, and his thumb traces Yamaguchi’s cheek bone delicately, like he’s contemplating how the universe could have possibly come up with him, and his face is heated, starting to flush unnatural colors, when-

Tsukshima kisses him. Just a gentle peck, and then his lips barely graze Yamaguchi’s cheek before he pulls away, shyly, and fixes his glasses more firmly on the bridge of his nose. They’re both very young, and almost awkward when the find each other, but theirs is a love that blossoms behind closed doors, that flourishes in the wee hours of the night, and it’s made in the mid-morning when both of them surrender.

 

**Author's Note:**

> PS. I get super sad when the tsukiyama ship is treated as a side pair/ignored entirely, so i’ve made it my life’s mission to write novels about these two falling in love and getting together
> 
> I think alot of the corny ideas that came for this were inspired by tumblr text posts lol. 
> 
> also unbeta’d so i apologize for mistakes and such.


End file.
